


Afraid to Sleep

by chocobogoddess



Series: Hearth and Home [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn with Feelings, Present Tense, Romance, Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobogoddess/pseuds/chocobogoddess
Summary: Nyx may have a hefty independent streak but he's still a stickler for rank. Luna starts making demands he's not sure he should fulfill. And by the time he is sure, it's wayyyy too late anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those fics where Nyx and Luna escape Insomnia together and hit the road to Altissia. Just go with it.  
> *****

1.  
Their stolen car thrums around them, two exhausted and grieving survivors of the invasion of Insomnia. Nyx keeps his hands on the wheel and his attention on the road, and if his eyes seem suspiciously glassy from time to time, he doesn't let on. Beside him in the passenger seat, a princess he barely knows (and yet knows better than just about anyone living) sits with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring out the window without seeing. Somewhere along that first night into dawn, she drowses, only to wake herself up with a cry.

That is the only time he takes a hand off the wheel: to clasp her seeking hand across the space between their seats. It is brief but firm, and it speaks volumes to them both.

He drives on.

2.  
When the smoke of Insomnia finally disappears from the rear-view mirror, Nyx allows them to stop for gas. He fills the tank--never sure where he'll have the chance again--and spends the rest of his gil on some snacks and a small pack of camp supplies. It isn't much, but it will help them survive.

Luna only gets out to stretch her legs and to clean up in the gas station rest room. Nyx stays within sight of the locked door, and when she emerges, he keeps an eye on her until she returns to the car. No one seems to notice either of them, to be honest. The workers are glued to the radio, to the reports of the shocking attack, and hardly acknowledge him even as he pays for their things. He counts his blessings, few as they are. 

They each eat a granola bar in silence as they get back on the road, the car and the wind making the only noise at all.

3.  
The first night, they camp in a haven not far from the road. All they have are a couple of heavy, scratchy woolen utility blankets from the trunk of the car and a few firestarters in the camp kit, but they make do. Nyx puts one of the blankets down for the princess and covers her with the other. He insists that he will stay up and keep watch, but Luna will have none of it. She tugs him down to lie beside her, gives him part of the blanket, and rolls onto her side. By the time they spoon the way she wanted, her head is pillowed one of his arms and the other wraps around her like a shield. Before he can dissuade her, she promptly falls asleep.

Nyx decides that it is okay to do this just this once. They both need the closeness of someone real, at least tonight, and he relaxes around her into slumber.

4.  
It is their third day on the road and Nyx still can't convince her to sleep alone. He's done a few monster hunts, made a few gil, bought some better equipment, but Luna is adamant. She is brave during the day. She even lets down her guard a bit, smiles, and when she does it's like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Perhaps the moon is a better comparison, but he lets the simile stand.

The nights are different. That's when she grows quiet, when she sits nearer and nearer to him. They usually eat their evening meal side by side, her hip pressed up against his. Her demeanour changes, too, from determined and focused to fearful and jumpy. She can only sleep if he's there, she tells him, because when he's not, the nightmares come.

She needs a knight to defend her against bad dreams. Nyx is pretty sure this is the strangest detail he's ever been assigned. But she outranks him and despite his independent streak, he is a stickler for rank. So they do what she wants, and that's how she manages to sleep at all.


	2. Chapter 2

5.  
On the fifth day, he trudges back to camp with the meat for their dinner and a deep, bloody gash in his shoulder. Luna is upon him with a flurry of concern, ignoring both the food and his protestations. When he tries to catch her hands, the worry turns to anger at him. She has a way of looking up at him with her chin tilted down. It reminds him of the night before all hell broke loose, when she flirted with him on top of the Citadel, and though he knows this time she is scolding him for being reckless, the memory is stronger. Something stirs in him, and before he can help himself, he guides one of her wrists to his lips.

Everything stops for both of them. Her eyes flare, whether in anger or desire, he isn't sure, though she doesn't pull away. He feels bolder and gives himself over to the moment, allows a tiny scrape of teeth against her soft, salty skin. She gasps and her fingers twitch. Nyx nuzzles her palm, his fingers cradling hers, his thumb moving in soft arcs over her still-damp wrist.

She breathes his name, just his first name, and for some reason that is what snaps him out of his daze. Their faces are so close; he's not sure how they got there but he can feel her breath on his jaw, uneven and warm.

It takes all of his strength to move away from that light touch.

6.  
Little is said about that moment for the rest of the day, but when they lie down to sleep, Luna stays awake in his arms for much longer than usual. Her fingers toy over his where his hand splays over her belly. She hasn't complained about the intimate contact, so he leaves it there. He breathes in the scent of her hair. Neither of them have had a chance to bathe properly for a few days but he decides it's not such a bad thing. She smells real, like a woman and not a goddess.

Goddesses are untouchable and unattainable. Women, on the other hand...

When she turns in his arms to face him, she is only a woman seeking comfort. This time, he doesn't protest. He pulls her close and murmurs soft things into her ear to soothe her. The tension drains out of her bit by bit until once more, she sleeps.

7.  
They need a break.

A week on the run is taking its toll on their tempers. There's the constant vigilance against the Nifs and the looming prospect of Altissia and the prince and her wedding and just so much utter world-shattering _shit_. On top of that, his healing arm aches. The breaking point comes when they snap at each other over something so trivial he can't even recall what started it. So instead of driving all day, Nyx pulls the car over mid-morning when he spots a haven close to the road.

They have enough food and supplies by now, more than enough to get them to the next rest stop. He sets up the tent--their newest acquisition--and Luna hums some old Tenebraean folk song as she builds the fire. It's...nice, this feeling, just the two of them in the wild open world with no deadlines or outside pressures.

The time off does them both good. Their moods sweeten; she asks him about Galahd and he asks her about her dogs, and they talk about things that make them happy.

It's a surprisingly long conversation, and he realizes halfway through that one of those things for him, is her.


	3. Chapter 3

8.  
A Nif transport sails over their heads shortly after they break camp in the morning. The whine of its engines, like everything else the Nifs do, cuts through the still-misty peace of dawn. MTs step off the open platform at the front of the transport and advance; there is no time to run.

Nyx's knives are out in a flash as the adrenaline hits his system. He turns to warn Luna to stay where she is, but the words die on his tongue.

For there she stands, straight-backed and glorious with the rising sun behind her, a crystalline trident solidifying in her two strong hands. Her expression is like nothing he's seen on her before, not even the moment King Regis died. 

She looks furious, dangerous. That steel he saw in her when they began this crazy journey is back. Nyx grins ferociously and faces the advancing enemy soldiers. Without a word, he leaps to battle, and she is right behind him.

9.  
Exhausted and exhilarated from the fight, they gather up the rest of their camp and just toss it into the car without much care. The Nifs could return anytime and Nyx doesn't want to be there when they do. Neither he nor Luna say a word to each other until they're safely on the road again. They share a potion, half for her and the rest for him.

He imagines that he can taste her on the lip of the bottle.

Only once the car is speeding along the highway do they discuss where to go next. They've spent a week avoiding detection, but now it will be impossible to continue straight to Altissia. If the Nifs could find them here, chances are they'll be hunting for her along the rest of the obvious routes.

The road forks and they have to make a choice. To the left is Galdin Quay, while straight ahead is the way to Duscae. He stops the car and turns his head to Luna, waiting for her decision. She sends him one of her slow, measuring sidelong looks. Seconds tick by. There is no one else on the road in any direction.

She looks ahead and her chin goes up. Her lips part in a deep, centering breath.

Then she nods toward the right. North it is, then, toward Lestallum.

10.  
They are now in unfamiliar territory. Nyx has been reasonably sure of where they were up until now, but this area is beyond his sphere of knowledge. Luna charts the course for them on a burner phone they picked up at one of their stops. There's an edge missing from her, something he wouldn't have noticed except the change in her is perceptible. She smiles more. The cold facade and the sharp fear he's become used to seeing is almost gone.

There's distance between her and Altissia, and with each mile that distance grows, more of Luna comes out of hiding. He catches her hooded gaze upon him more often now that they have time to breathe, to get outside of their own minds for a bit.

Now when they curl together at night, she settles against him as if daring him to keep his composure. It's so, so hard to think straight when she shifts in her sleep and their bodies are pressed so tightly together.

It is the worst of bad ideas to even think about her like that. She's a princess, no matter how skilled she is in a fight. No matter how her cheeks flush and she laughs after they win, or how completely fucking delicious she looks when she wipes the sweat from her brow. Living on the road has done good things to her, toughened her without stealing her innate grace. The form that stretches alongside him in the morning is becoming lithe and muscular in the way a coeurl might be, and Nyx is torn between his duty as a Glaive and the urging of his heart.

He is completely, utterly under her spell, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

11.  
He wakes in the middle of the night, alone. Panic strikes him and he sits up. 

Luna hasn't gone far, just to the edge of camp, where the glowing sigils of the haven end. The fire has died down so he stokes it back to life and then goes to join her. He sits cross-legged beside her and automatically they lean into each other, his arm draped around her waist.

For comfort, he tells himself, though of course that's a lie. Her nightmares haven't terrorized her for days.

Her hand rests lightly on his knee, her slender fingers tracing a figure-eight in the leather of his pants. She says nothing, however, no excuse or reason given for waking. Which is fine; they have these long silences between them that do not seem to bother her and certainly don't bother him. Nyx has always been a man of few words. He doesn't mind talking when he has to, but he likes the quiet times most of all.

Something shifts in her, a sudden tenseness that is the only sign that she is about to move. Luna extricates herself from his hold and turns so that she can kneel to face him. Her heavy-lidded eyes are on his, holding him in place with just the power of her gaze. Then it flicks oh-so-briefly to his mouth and back to his eyes, and she leans in.

He shouldn't, he shouldn't, he really, really shouldn't respond, but he meets her halfway.

They both inhale at the first touch of their lips, his as if he's been electrified and Luna's as if she is holding back a sob. Somehow he is dragging her into his lap, easing her back for better access to her mouth. Luna spreads those elegant fingers over the planes of his face as if to memorize them, then they tangle in his hair and his collar, pull him closer.

As if he needs the encouragement. He changes the angle of his kiss, deepens it, feels her lips part under his. Her tongue curls around his in response, urges him deeper. Nyx can't suppress a moan that comes unbidden from his throat; she echoes the sound and it vibrates between them.

She tastes like spring water, like dust, like salt, like the spices from their evening meal. It's a heady flavor that compels him to kiss her again and again and to nip at her lips. He presses hot kisses to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the soft skin under her ear.

Luna gives back as much as she can, though breathless. She gasps as he leaves her mouth, recovers, then guides his face back to hers with a passionate and very unprincess-like growl. The sound inflames him, and before he can think about what he's doing, Luna is on her back beneath him and his arms are braced on either side of her head. Her hands clutch at his shoulders. Their hips meet and Nyx is delighted and perturbed to find that she has parted her legs to let him lie between them. He can't help but buck against her once, just to see sharp desire ripple through her like a shockwave.

There is a moment, just a tiny moment, when the little voice at the back of his head reminds him that it is far past time to stop before they do something even more ill-advised than this.

With an angry noise--angry at himself, certainly not at her--he screws his eyes shut and heaves himself off of her. The spell is broken, leaving them both lying panting and loose-limbed on the hard ground. Nyx appreciates how the cold stone under his back helps to cool his ardor, laughs weakly, ruefully.

She's angry for a moment, but as reality comes back to her as well, Luna collects herself with an arm flung across her eyes. Nyx isn't sure if she's crying or not, but he could understand if she is. As it is, he needs time to calm his blood enough to sit up and take her hand without pulling her back into his arms.

Blindly, she accepts the hand and uses it to leverage herself up as well. They sit side by side again, almost a meter apart this time, but do not let go of each other, fingers entwined.

Something has changed between them, and Nyx is afraid (or hopeful, or both) that things will never go back to the way they were, ever again.


	4. Chapter 4

12.  
As usual, they say nothing about the...well, kiss is not strong enough a word, but it will have to do. Nyx packs the last of their things into the trunk on pure rote muscle memory, because his mind is still processing what they did the night before. Could he be falling in love so soon? Their time together feels too short. Or perhaps it's been too long, and by now they should have run away together into the wild, away from duty and destiny. 

The image of her beneath him, the sound of her voice saying his name, the sidelong glance he has seen too many times to count, all of this makes his chest feel tight, his gut feel bottomless, his knees weak. Nyx is not a man given to outward signs of discomfort, but Luna is not as easily ignored as an enemy taunt or a feint from an opponent. She...does something to him. With her, all bets are off, all of the usual responses are canceled out. 

It's exciting. It's terrifying. It's also probably going to get him court-martialed or killed. Fired, at the very least, but he can't bring himself to care.

Gods above and below, he doesn't care about the consequences, and that is what frightens him the most.

13.  
They may not talk about it, but the air between them is both charged and relaxed. Their fingers touch more often; Nyx finds himself driving with one hand on the wheel and the other laced with hers on his thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over her skin. He is hyper-aware of her presence. She smiles more, laughs more; there is lightness in her bearing. There's a lightness in him, too.

No safer place for her, indeed.

At night, when they camp, after dinner, they lie together by the fire. Nyx whispers things in her ear, teases her, makes her laugh until she threads fingers in his hair and pulls him down to kiss her. After that, the nights are a blur of questing lips, body warmth, gasps and low moans.

14.  
One night, she urges him to do more than kisses, and it physically pains him to say no. Heightened emotions and such a sudden halt to euphoria cause her to push him off of her. He can't even resist, dazed as he is. He's not even sure why she's angry until she whirls on him, eyes blazing, and then it dawns that he's underestimated her all along.

Because she knows exactly what his problem is--that she belongs to someone else, and by the Six, if she isn't fucking pissed off at him about it.

What does she expect him to do? He can't keep the frustration out of his voice even though he knows she's right. But there are some things he can't do, and one of them is to rise above his station. She's a princess, engaged to a prince. Even if she intends to break things off: They. Are. Still. Engaged. And Nyx is sworn to the service of the King.

A king who is dead, she reminds him, with an edge of sadness.

There is also the matter of his rank, so far below hers. He cannot sully a princess; as it is, their closeness of the past weeks has already crossed lines he never should have crossed.

And what if rank didn't come into it, she asks him, still burning, though the blaze of her anger is now embers. She advances on him, slowly, like the coeurl she always reminds him of these days. Would he, for instance, swear to serve her, now that he is free of the bond to his king?

Nyx is fixed in place, unable to breathe, as if waiting for her command to do just that. He already serves only her, he realizes; he says as much. She has reached him by now, close enough to feel her warmth even without her touch. He does breathe at last, and with that first breath, he falls to his knees before her in blissful defeat.

He is hers, he tells her, head bowed, always.

She laughs ruefully, and combs her fingers through his hair. When he looks up at her, the moon forms a halo around her shadowed face. Her eyes, though, her eyes shine down on him just as surely as her namesake shines down on her.

Come tend to your liege, then, she commands with a tilt of her head and a shiver-inducing curl of her lips, and Nyx obeys.

15.  
Nyx asks her to trust him as he lowers his lips to hers. He tastes her reply, feels it in the surge of her body against his. He chuckles at her eagerness, but he will not rush, as much as he would like to devour her with his hands and tongue. That would not do, not when the night is still new and they are the only two people in the world.

His fingers trace the frayed edge of her neckline, the once-fine dress now travel-stained and worn. Her breath comes shallowly, hitching when he touches her skin. Nyx is about to loosen the chain around her neck to let the dress down, but then he has a much, much better idea. With a line of brief kisses along her collarbone, he leaves off. 

Luna makes a breathy sound of disappointment that changes into a startled moan when he returns to nuzzle her belly, his hands splayed over her hips to hold her in place. Though she cannot see it, his grin turns wolfish. He delights in the quickening of her pulse, the warming of her skin that he can feel even through the light fabric of her dress. He moves lower.

Now his hands find the ragged hem of her skirt, slip beneath it to caress her thighs. He keeps his touch light and teasing, coaxing her knees apart until she begins to relax under him. Then he lowers his head further, places a kiss on her inner thigh, first gentle and then hard, raking his teeth over the spot. Luna yelps, her hands only able to reach his but unable to stop him from tasting flesh that has never felt the touch of another. He murmurs against her skin, asks her if she wants him to stop.

She does not.

He holds her gaze for a moment, there in the firelight, in the moonlight, then turns his attentions back to the refined crook of her knee, the lean muscle of her calf, then back up to that impossibly soft skin of her thigh. He pushes the skirt up and out of the way, admiring what no other man has ever seen. The thought awes him, that she does trust him, that she does want him, that the trembling and excited body beneath him is his just as much as he is hers.

Slowly, reverently, he hooks his fingers into the sides of her underwear, slides the bit of cotton and ribbon down over her hips, helps her kick it off and out of the way, and just like that, she is open to him.

Luna is watching him, wanting him, her upper half propped on her elbows and her fingers digging into the blankets. Her hair is slipping loose of its braids, her lips are parted in fascinated desire. Never has she looked more like a goddess, though one of the earth, one of those ancient deities who promised a good harvest and fertile fields.

I love you like no other, he says, then dips his head to taste her.

Her reaction is immediate and powerful; she throws back her head with a ragged moan. Nyx hears her speak his name over and over, like a prayer. He pulls her closer, gets his shoulder under her leg, buries his face among the soft folds of her most intimate place. 

He's done this before, plenty of times, but it has never been so--so beautiful. Nyx learns how she is formed, how she tastes, how she smells, and each experience is intensified by the fact that it is Luna, specifically Luna that he is pleasuring now. He drags his tongue along the edge of one fold then dips it in between two others. He's teasing her, of course; her center is just there, just to the left, waiting for him to lick and touch. He leaves it alone for now.

Luna clutches at his hair now, her legs trying to close around his head. His low laugh sends another shudder through her, its vibration enough to make her cry out. Nyx decides it's time to give her what she wants, so he turns his attention to that single, heated spot that beckons him.

Her back arches and his name comes from her lips louder, more forcefully. Nyx laps at her as if unmoved, though he is far from it. He is harder than he ever has been; when Luna is done he will not be far behind. His delicate ministration turns rougher, less controlled, and he can feel the beginnings of her climax in the way she cries his name again and again and again, in the way her body spasms with every accidental scrape of his teeth and every invasion of his tongue.

And then it's upon her, a harsh cry and a sweet wetness and gasping in relief. Nyx rides it out with her, still tasting her, though gentling his kiss, carefully licking her clean and relaxing the hold on her hips. Luna lies before him, flushed, sweating, thoroughly debauched. By him. She can barely lift her head to thank him.

He laughs and crawls over her to kiss her, lets her taste herself on his lips. She's startled but it doesn't take long for her to wind her arms around him and pull him close. 

Except that he can't relax, not yet. He tries to rise, hoping to ease his own arousal on his own, but of course Luna won't let him. She drags him back down to her, kisses him hard, and then her hand is undoing his pants, freeing him, stroking him. 

He's so far gone that it doesn't matter that she's unpracticed, only that she is eager. He guides her for those last moments, silently showing her what he needs, and she understands, gods above and below, she understands and he thanks every single one of those gods that she is a quick learner.

He comes, hard, with Luna beside him. Her name is his own prayer as he spills himself over her hand, his own belly. For endless minutes they simply lie together, panting, both sated on a bone-deep level.

Luna experimentally tastes the stuff on her hand and makes a face. Nyx laughs, reassures her that she doesn't have to if she doesn't like it. She shrugs and uses a corner of the blanket to clean it off.

When they catch their breath, Nyx gathers Luna into his arms and holds her close until she sleeps. And only then, with the moon high overhead and the fire burning down, he lets himself sleep as well.


	5. Chapter 5

16.  
The days are growing shorter and the nights unseasonably longer.

Nyx instructs Luna to stay with the car; something has caught his eye in the distance, and before he makes any other decisions, he wants to investigate. So he shoulders a canteen and checks his kukris, then sets off toward the glimmer he spotted from the road.

It's a longer walk than he expected, far enough that he can't see the car anymore, but he is rewarded by the sound of water running over stones. Sure enough, there's a haven out here, with a clear stream cutting through it. He checks the water for taste and finds exactly what he hoped: clean and sweet. The water is fresh and cold.

Better still, he sees a dog approach the water a few yards away; it sniffs the water and then takes a long drink. When it raises its head, it looks right at him. It's a handsome creature, with thick black fur and tan markings. It's no wild animal; it's someone's pet, he's sure. A tiny scarf has been wrapped around one of its front legs. Bemused, Nyx sits on his heels, holds out his hand, and whistles.

The dog snorts and shakes itself, then trots away. But after a few steps, it looks over its shoulder at him and barks once.

The signal couldn't be clearer. Follow.

It leads him back to the car. Once the direction is clear, Nyx picks up the pace until he and the dog are trotting alongside each other. His heart pounds; what if something is wrong? Should he have left her alone…?

His fears are dashed when he sees her, laughing and sitting on the ground in the shade of the car. A cream-colored dog is bounding around her, wagging its tail and licking her face, barking happily. The black dog glances up at Nyx, then bounds over to join its companion.

When the two dogs settle at last, Luna's face is covered in doggy kisses and her hair is disheveled. She doesn't care; she's just happy to roughly snuggle them both, squishing their faces and making cooing noises. It is a different side of her that Nyx hasn't yet seen. She smiles up at him, still scratching both dogs' heads.

Nyx has the feeling that the tent is going to be crowded tonight.

 

17.  
Bathing is a luxury out here in the middle of nowhere; they decide to stay at least two nights so they can wash and dry their clothes, their equipment, and themselves. With the blankets hung up to dry on the bare rocks under the sun, Luna and Nyx wade in the stream with bare feet. The rocks that line the bottom are round and smooth, comfortable on their tired soles. The dogs frolic downstream, jumping in and out of the water and shaking out their coats.

Nyx draws Luna close, kisses her nose where freckles have appeared from exposure to the sun. She laughs, and the sound soothes him. 

 

18.  
In the night, something wakes Nyx. It takes him a moment to notice that Luna is not in bed. Pryna, the cream colored dog, is gone as well. Umbra, the dark one, barely lifts his head to acknowledge Nyx's movement.

He's about to go out of the tent when he hears a woman's voice. It's not Luna's, but it's melodic and the accent matches. Then Luna replies, and though Nyx can't hear her exact words, her tone is unmistakable.

Grief.

If there is an emotion Nyx knows well, it's that one. He doesn't care that he's barefoot and shirtless and unarmed; he's just spent the better part of a month helping Luna overcome her fear and sadness, and no one--no one--is going to take that peace away from her.

He climbs out of the tent in a rush, intent upon putting himself between Luna and who or whatever brought that tone back to her voice. But when he emerges, he's startled to find Luna in the motherly embrace of a woman dressed in black who strokes her hair and says quiet things to her.

There's something about her that seems familiar, but Nyx can't put his finger on it. She looks like some kind of Lucian royalty, but no one he's ever heard of.

The woman turns her head toward him, and though her eyes remain closed, he has the sensation of being studied, measured. Her lips purse. Nyx is aware of how Luna feels for him but he's equally aware that his commoner status (and worse, his refugee status) makes him a poor match for her as far as anyone else is concerned. 

But no one else matters anymore, do they? He serves Luna, only Luna, and to hell with the opinions of others. He strides toward the pair, puts his hand on Luna's arm.

The contact has an immediate effect; Luna relaxes and the tension of sadness drains away from her as if his presence alone lends her strength. That earns a different kind of study from the woman in black. The disapproval is replaced by something else.

Is she...impressed? Or at least...not unimpressed any longer?

He'll take it.

He glances down at Luna, who holds fast to his hand though her gaze is miles away. And when he looks up to ask a question, the woman in black is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been leaving kudos, commenting, and otherwise enjoying this fic. I am a bit alone in my love for Luna/Nyx (in my social circles, that is) so if you are a fan, please feel free to ping me here. I'm also whatisthisidefk on tumblr. 
> 
> Again, thanks for reading! I have several chapters to go, so I hope you stick around for the rest!


	6. Chapter 6

19.  
The second day in camp is spent in near-silence; they speak but only when they must. Luna's dogs seem agitated, unable to settle, and when they do, they whine at her from time to time until she absently pats them between the ears. 

Nyx asks her, once, if there's anything he can do to help, and the look she gives him is so full of sadness and bravery that he can't help but look away with a muttered apology. When he looks at her again, she is scrubbing a pot from their breakfast like it offended her.

Umbra watches him, head cocked, as if to say, fix this, but Nyx is afraid that for once he doesn't know what exactly to do.

 

20.  
Nyx is mending some of their gear and Luna curls in one of the folding chairs with a metal cup of coffee in her hand. She has been a little dazed since last night, lost in deep thought. Nothing good, either, from her troubled expression. The coffee has since gone cold but she still toys with it. Her other hand props up her head, and she gazes unseeing into the fire.

He already misses talking with her. A solitary life might have prepared him for silence but the past weeks have attuned him to the pleasant sound of her voice as she tells him about her home, sings the songs she learned as a child, asks him endless questions about the open world that stretches into the distance on all sides. What wild plants can they eat, what is a good price for fuel, how does a hamburger taste? He's been answering them as best he can.

But tonight--tonight she has no questions, only sorrow, and maybe fear. 

He has had enough. He puts aside the mended strapping and stands. She doesn't look up until he moves into her line of vision, between her and the fire. He holds out his hand.

Let's go for a walk, he tells her.

 

21.  
Stars stretch overhead, countless tiny pinpoints of light that yet do not offer any illumination. The moon is waning, lopsided, losing the fullness it had just nights ago, when he pledged his fealty to the pale, delicate figure beside him.

It reminds him suddenly of home.

Nyx has not thought of Galahd much throughout this trip, but tonight he finds himself telling her about growing up there, offering his best and funniest tales of getting into trouble with Libertus, stealing too-hot pies and burning their fingers even as they ran, of teasing his sister in the way only an older brother can do.  
Her shoulders relax the slightest bit; the ghost of a smile flutters past her lips.

He tells her about their songs, their stories, their customs. He hasn't spoken this much about anything in one conversation, at least not that he can remember. But what started as an attempt to distract her turns into a catalog of the things he misses desperately, things he thought he had left behind long ago.

He pauses, thinking of what to say next, and at last she steps in front of him, chin tilted up so she can study him. Her expression has lost some of that profound sadness that has afflicted her all day, though it still lingers.

So then he starts telling her about their weddings, about how the stars made him think of the embroidered or painted or carefully sewn canopies that are carried above the couple as they walk hand-in-hand through town. How the crowd of attendants grows along the way, how their families throw flowers and sweets atop the canopies for luck as they pass, to be tossed back to the crowd after the wedding. How, at the end of the walk, the entire town has gathered to witness the union of two people so very much in love.

Marriage where he comes from, he tells her with a wistful half-smile, is taken very seriously.

Even political ones? she wonders, which gives him a hint about what has been on her mind.

Ah, but there are no political marriages in Galahd, only love matches. Weddings are partnerships between a man and a woman, or two men, or two women, and sometimes more. When your homeland is treated like a rope between two dogs by the superpowers of the world, you must cling to what happiness you can find.

She understands that all too well.

Then she asks him what vows they speak, and before he can stop himself, he is saying something like them aloud and she is echoing each phrase even as they fall from his lips. The words themselves are not important but there is power in intention. By the time they are done, his voice is a whisper and hers a lighter reflection of it.

The world shifts within him, and something falls into place.

Nyx holds her close, buries his face against her hair and breathes in her scent. There is a tightness in his chest, a blurriness to his vision. To fight it, he captures her in a kiss, as if that was a remotely viable way to clear his head.

A secret marriage vow is never broken, she murmurs breathlessly when he releases her lips a moment later. 

And he has to laugh, because that is exactly what this is, though they have witnesses in the two too-smart dogs and the silent gods and the stars that lend their ancient light, the waning moon and the sky that serves as their wedding canopy.

Come to bed, lady wife, he says to her, and at last the smile she gives him is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to add this when I posted--the words Luna speaks came from The Secret Marriage by Sting. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfnXHRMfZYI


	7. Chapter 7

22.  
Nyx has never thought of himself as the kind of person to fall in love. His hard life as a refugee and then a seemingly disposable soldier has always precluded him from more than momentary solace. Partners blur together in a long line of heaving, moaning bodies with features that blend until he can barely remember any one in particular. Many don't even have names.

But Luna. Oh, Luna.

If this is a farce, if this is a dream, then may he never learn the truth. 

She surges against him with the barest of touches, slender arms winding around his neck and taut belly pressing against his. He groans into her mouth, eliciting the same sound from her.

They sink to the blankets together. She unclasps her dress and helps him peel it away from her freckled skin. Where the dress covers, she is still alabaster, but the rest of her has absorbed the sunlight and turned the color of milk tea. He feels her legs around his waist, the slow drag of a heel over his lower back, though she forces her hands to stay at her sides, trusting him. Her lips part as she licks them, turning them glossy in the low light. 

With slow care, he lowers his head to lick along the color change of her skin. She tastes different above and below; the white is sweet and cool while the tan is spicy and warm. He grins against her breast at the way just his breath can make her whimper his name. When he captures one nipple, curling his tongue around the bud of flesh, she arches and his name falls more harshly from her lips. Her reaction is no less controlled when he samples the other. 

He only needs one arm to support her back and to keep her sweet breasts within range of his kisses. But the other hand is free to wander, free to fit itself around her hip, over the curve of her rear, to glide light fingers over her thigh and around to sink into her hot, slick core.

It's too much for her to keep her hands to herself after that. Overwhelmed by the inexorable, still-too-slow stroke of his fingers inside her and the shock of his mouth on her, Luna's own hands flutter over her body, then over his. She is biting her bottom lip and even from his angle he can see the unmitigated lust in her gaze. 

He curls his fingers inside her and is gratified to see her lose focus again. Her hands work themselves into her hair with nothing else to grasp. When he crooks his fingers again, she gives a strangled cry and bites down on a knuckle.

Let me hear you, he entreats against her collarbone. 

The next thrust of his hand is greeted by a sharp gasp, then a pleading moan. Nyx laughs with her nipple in his mouth and is rewarded with another series of wanton noises. 

He quickens the pace of his hand, stroking her folds in between thrusts to keep her just at the edge of ecstasy; he needs to hear how far she can bear the delicious torture he's putting her through. Luna's legs tighten around him and he suddenly wishes that it wasn't his hand making her buck and strain against him.

As before, when she reaches her climax, she lets out one last pleasure-soaked cry. Her body contracts around his fingers as if to keep him there. Shaking, Nyx lowers her to the blanket and covers her with feather-light kisses. But when he reaches her lips, she responds with desperate ferocity.

Her body molds itself to his, hands tearing at his clothes because she thinks--and he agrees--that he is wearing too damn many things. And it's not fair to either of them. Nyx buries his face against her neck when she shoves his pants past his hips and, more boldly than last time, wraps her fingers around him.

He doesn't need to guide her this time. Both of her hands are on him, working his length, carding through the hair at its base, nails grazing hypersensitive skin. She holds his gaze with defiant, lust-darkened eyes. He cannot look away from her, can hardly blink. It's almost too much for him to bear, simply holding himself up on his arms above her while she gnaws on her lip and her hands drag him toward completion. And then he is on the edge; her lashes flutter in response to how hard he gets in that last moment. He pulses in her tight grasp, sees stars, gasps out a coarse groan that he couldn't keep in if he tried.

Sweat drips from his nose onto her cheek. They lie there, swallowing air, Nyx shaking with the effort of keeping himself above her. When she reaches trembling hands up to his face, urging him down to kiss her, he lowers his body and rolls to the side, taking Luna with him. Their kisses are lazy, unhurried, deep and hot. Luna is a satisfying, damp weight on his chest. He runs his fingers along her spine and cups her bare skin wherever it rounds under his hand.

They should probably wash in the stream but that can wait until morning.

 

23.  
The silence between them in the morning is utterly unlike the previous day. They break camp as usual, Luna's dogs trotting alongside them and generally almost-but-not-quite getting underfoot, but this silence is the kind Nyx has gotten used to with her. It's relaxed, companionable. From time to time, they brush past each other or their hands touch or he steals a brief kiss. Each time, he is rewarded with her half shy, half sensual smile or a lingering sigh.

They pause to look around the empty haven one last time before they go. Luna waits by the car as Nyx fills their canteens and a couple of used bottles with water from the stream. He stows them on the floor of the back seat under a duffel in hopes of keeping them cool as long as possible. The dogs clamber into the car and into the back, Luna settles in the passenger seat, and Nyx slides behind the wheel. 

Forty-eight hours of his life gone by, and everything has changed.

For the better, for once.

He cannot help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Luna's hand finds his across the divide as it often does, and their fingers entwine. He kisses their joined hands, then lets go with a little bit of regret so he can start the car.

They are back on the road.

 

24.  
It's past time for them to go to Altissia. When they talk about it now, though, there is a confidence in her voice about the future.

There are new paths, she tells him, her hair flying about her face and her fingers toying with a silk scarf in the wind as they drive with the top down. The ends flow and snap. Luna has most of it wrapped around her hand; since he gave it to her, she hasn't let it go.

The scarf was from his uniform, a long sash the color of sylleblossoms. It looks much better on her, he thinks. In the back seat, the dogs hang their heads out over the doors, mouths open and tongues lolling. He's gotten used to them being around, and he admits to himself that it's nice to have someone else watch over Luna.

Not that she needs it much anymore. She still doesn't like to fight animals so he ends up hunting on his own most of the time. But the way she tears into MTs with that trident of hers...it's enough to drive him wild. Most of their battles with Niflheim bring out a hidden revenge-fueled streak in her that Nyx is positive no one else has ever seen. After a dozen or so skirmishes that end with her standing over a dismantled MT, springs and oil and metal rent by her enchanted weapon scattered around, and a furious snarl marring her normally serene features…

Well. He has to adjust himself just thinking about it. She's equally as fierce with him after the fighting is done.

Luna notices the action and suggests--by leaning over and whispering into his ear, close enough that he can hear her over the noise of the road--that they should find someplace civilized to stay the night. He almost swerves into oncoming traffic when she sucks his earlobe between her teeth; her only reply when he swears and recovers is a laugh as she slides down in her seat again.

 

25.  
After dinner, lying sated beside each other in the rented caravan that is all that counts as "civilized" at this rest stop, Luna rests her chin on her hands above Nyx's heart, watching him. He combs his fingers through her messy hair to undo the rest of her ruined braids. A shower will do them both good, wash away the grime of travel and the evidence of their romp in the sheets, but there is no rush. 

She's grown bolder since the night by the stream, since he promised himself to her not only as her Glaive, but as her husband. And what a combination that is. As vows go, the former will probably be more readily recognized by the world than the latter, but it's the latter he wishes to protect most. 

Lost in his thoughts as her hair slips through his fingers, he almost misses what she says to him. When it registers, his hand stills, and he has to sit up to look down at her.

She says it again: if you are my Glaive, then can you take power from me?

He's never thought about that. Luna might not be of the Lucii but she has a magic of her own. She, too, is bound by the Crystal. She can call upon her own weapon, and even if it's not quite the same as the armiger that Regis commanded, it might be enough.

He can barely dare to hope. He wants it to work so badly; his hands flex as if holding his kukris right then. Luna sits cross-legged on the bed before him, hands braced on her lap as she watches his thoughts flicker across his face. 

In the end, Nyx grins at her.

It certainly wouldn't hurt to try.

In the morning, though. Because she is sitting right there, so beautifully mussed from earlier, and all his languor has burned away at the prospect of being able to fight--to fly--again. The only thing sweeter would be to do it as Luna's Glaive.

He pulls her to him, closing that foot or two of space between them on the creaking bed. She goes easily into his arms, always so easily, and he loses himself in her again.


	8. Chapter 8

26.  
They are in the middle of nowhere in the wasteland beyond the rest stop, ostensibly on a hunt for some rogue, territorial garula that won't leave the local subsistence farmers alone. The monster has long since been vanquished, however, and instead the glaive and his lady liege stand facing each other across a dozen feet of dusty earth, chests heaving.

The attempt at warping has not gone well.

Nyx angrily wipes the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve, swearing, while Luna leans heavily on her trident, using her weapon as a staff. It's been hard work for both of them with nearly no payoff. The only thing that keeps them going is the memory of a single flare of magic that shimmered around their hands less than an hour after they started trying to make it work.

Now, though, more hours have passed, with nothing further to show for it. Their earlier excitement has died away completely, replaced by fatigue and muscle pain. Still, Nyx will try and try again until he can't. That one frisson of--of something must mean it could happen.

It must. He can't protect her properly if he can't fight to his full potential. It's got to work before they reach Altissia.

Try again. Her voice is hoarse from swallowing dust all afternoon. Please, Nyx.

He closes his eyes and exhales. She may have phrased it like a request but it's an order he cannot disobey. When he opens his eyes again, she draws herself up and rolls each shoulder. They are both so tired. If only this wasn't a matter of life and death...

But of course it is. It's her life, her death. Nyx could not live with himself if he lost her due to his inability to see his duty through. So he breathes deeply again, tosses the kukri past Luna, then reaches out to touch the river of energy he knows is just beyond his senses--

\--and his hand closes around the hilt of the wickedly sharp knife. Flickering lights like heatless flames dissipate from his arms, flashing orange and red and white. The momentary dizziness that accompanies a jump comes right afterward--his consciousness catching up with his body. He straightens from the crouch he materialized in, looks behind him to the spot where he had just been standing, seeing a set of his footprints in the dust that simply stop.

He's done it.

_He's done it!_

He whirls to see Luna's reaction, but all thoughts of celebration flee from his mind even as his legs carry him to catch her as she falls. The trident flutters into nothingness as it leaves her senseless hand. Nyx sweeps her into his arms and whistles for the dogs to come back, mentally cursing himself for a fool.

Regis had aged prematurely from using his magic and sharing it with the Glaives. What had Nyx expected, that Luna would be unaffected when even the former King was not? 

He carries her to the car and, once Umbra and Pryna have joined them and licked at Luna's face from between the seats, drives them back to the caravan.

27.  
She wakes just before they see the lights of the rest stop again. Her head aches and she feels like she's seeing double, but otherwise appears well. Nyx won't let that fool him, as she is adept at hiding pain, so he gently warns her to relax. Her hand finds his, threading their fingers together tightly, but her eyes close once more for the rest of the short drive.

When they reach the caravan, she has a hard time getting out of the car, so Nyx hurries to her door. With utmost care, he gets an arm under her knees and around her back, then lifts her from the seat. He lets the dogs hop out and shuts the door with his hip. Luna rests her head on his chest as he carries her into the caravan like a bride.

He intends to leave her there on the bed for a moment while he settles up their hunt reward and grabs them something to eat, but Luna catches his hand before he can go far.

Stay, she breathes. Her body is languid on the bed, eyes heavy, but the command is clear.

So of course he does as she asks. His knee sinks into the worn mattress next to her as he brushes the wind-loosened hair from her face, smiling softly. She closes her eyes under his touch only briefly, for when her hand brushes his, they snap open in shock.

He feels it, too. There's something...extra...about the sensation. His gaze turns quizzical, then mirrors her shock when he touches her cheek and he feels the same touch on his own face. Her hands are nowhere near, so how...?

Luna is watching him now, intense curiosity taking the place of her exhaustion. She struggles to sit up until they can face each other, then reaches out her hand to trace a finger down over his breastbone. Her eyes never leave his, so he sees it when they go wider in surprise.

It's not his imagination. Any time he touches her, he feels it on himself like an echo. Any time she touches him, she feels the same thing. 

Her hand moves lower, over his stomach, his abdomen, and lower. And when she touches him there, her breath hitches exactly the way his does and her eyes close in bliss. 

Before the next breath, she is in his lap, dragging him closer with her hands fisted in the lapels of his coat. By the time their mouths crash together, the feedback from her kissing him _(kissing her kissing him)_ is almost enough to short circuit his brain. He feels her hands on him _(his hands on her hands on him)_ ghostly touches that multiply as he tries to chase them down. 

She is desperate for their layers to be off, her color high in her cheeks and the delicate flush spreading down her neck to her breasts. When his struggle with her dress is finally overcome, the garment thrown to the floor without another thought, he pulls her to him with his hands on her waist _(on his waist on her waist dear gods)_ and when he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, the same electrifying feeling goes through one of his. It should be disturbing but it isn't. It's fascinating. Luna is learning the same thing as she caresses his face and wraps her legs around him.

Is this how he makes her feel? Is this what she experiences when he makes love to her? The sensations are so different, so crystal clear. There are emotions, too, shyness and boldness and desire that he recognizes as hers. They're both breathing heavy now, Luna wrapped around him and holding his face in her hands, Nyx sitting beneath her and unable to look away.

She licks her lips and indicates the tiny caravan shower with a sultry nod of her head. 

Nyx doesn't need to be told twice. He kicks off his boots while she unbuckles his pants; it's a small struggle to shove them down but he manages it before he stands, taking her with him. Luna is the one to reach for the water, and for a moment they're laughing together under a too-cold stream.

It warms up quickly enough, not that they notice it by then. The echoing touches are still there, magnifying each kiss and each lick and each touch of skin on skin until they both feel like they're on fire. Luna tightens her legs around his middle, kisses him deeply and hard, and then he can't help himself any longer.

Still he asks, just before he does it, he has to know that this is what she wants. 

Her expression is pure, unadulterated desire. She nods, eyes on him again as he presses her against the wet plastic wall of the shower stall.

I love you, only you, she says, and the last of his self-imposed barrier crumbles. 

He intended to do this with her gently, carefully, perhaps someday down the road when he could set the stage or find a beautiful hidden place with flowers and soft grass. Instead, after an excruciating minute of entering her by inches (with all of the sensations she is feeling crowded among his own) and another of waiting for her to relax around him until she puts her forehead to his and tells him that yes, he can move and he'd better move _now_ , he finds himself driving into her almost recklessly, making them both cry out amid the heightened sensations of multiplied touch. Instead of a secluded glade or a royal bedroom, they have a cheap shower stall in an aged, rental caravan. And it doesn't matter.

She moans with each thrust of his hips, her arms wound around him _(wound around her wound around him)_ and her cheek laid against his. He vaguely knows she wants to help, but she has nothing to brace against but him. It's enough. The feedback of his movements inside her are somehow translated into something he can understand, some deep-coiling pleasure that makes her skin flush deeper and causes her to pant his name as her arms tighten around him.

He hefts her a little, pausing in his rhythm to get a better grip on her, but the interruption is worth the trouble. The slightly different angle lets him stroke something within her that makes her throw her head back against the wall, makes her body spasm and clench around him, makes her dig her nails into his shoulder. She feels that, too, he can see in the way her own shoulders tense, but by then he's too far gone to notice much more. Even as she shudders in his arms, he spends himself, buried to the hilt inside his lady liege, love and her name on his lips.

Nyx is shaking with the release, his knees weak. He leans into her, keeping her up by virtue of her own strength and the friction of the shower wall. With one arm still under her hip, he brushes her wet hair out of her face to see what she feels. Luna laughs weakly, regarding him through lashes dotted with water drops and a deeply satisfied smile curving her lips. 

The echoing touches are gone at last, which means they can both think again. Nyx lowers her, lets her stand on shaky legs of her own, though he pulls her close in the tenderest of hugs. 

They stay like that until the water begins to cool.

28.  
He wakes in the middle of the night. Luna is sitting up on the edge of the bed, watching the moon through the caravan skylight, singing softly. The dogs are curled at the foot of the bed, quiet but attentive. Nyx listens as well; he likes this song. It's the one she sings or hums when she's happy, a tune from her childhood. The words always strike him as particularly Tenebrean.

_Here is all of life, all into one_  
_In moments such as this_  
_All that lives and breathes under the sun_  
_Is a part of heaven's kiss_  
_And we'll fly to meet the dawn_  
_In crimson skies we will be with one_

He hasn't said a word nor moved a muscle, but she still knows that he is awake. Her ethereal gaze turns to him, and when she turns, he can see how her eyes shine, tempered by her gentle smile. Nyx scoots on the bed so he can put his head on her lap and look up at her.

She holds out a hand for him to take, but instead of simply clasping it, she pulls it to her stomach. He smirks up at her, amused that she loves his touch so much. In answer to the question he believes she is asking, he runs the back of his fingers over her belly, ready to prop himself up onto one arm and pull her back down to him. Except what she asks is not what he expects.

_Nyx, my love, what would you name our daughter?_

All of the air goes out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna's song is the first verse of this:
> 
> https://youtu.be/6w1qz3fzTHY?list=PLq3WYzlR9ChX9PvxXc9byYHZEY2MQzrsS


	9. Chapter 9

29.

A full minute goes by before he can breathe again. _Daughter??_

She smiles fondly down at him, brushes a thumb over his cheek. He feels something wet spread over his skin, and it's hard to see her through the blur. They're his tears. He can't remember the last time he wept for anything--not even the loss of his dear friend Crowe. But even that thought is overwhelmed by the idea that he had somehow gotten her--but how? They'd only just--that one time--how?

One time is all it needs, she reminds him. He stares at the place where her womb resides, only inches from his nose at this angle. His hand moves of its own accord now, stroking over taut skin that hides the life just now forming inside her. A child.

His child.

All men have secret dreams, even men sworn to give their lives for hearth and home. The one thing he has always wanted, one thing he has never dared whisper aloud in all his days since joining the Kingsglaive, not even to Crowe or Pelna or even Libertus, who would understand more than anyone--is that someday, somehow, he might have a family of his own. That he might be to some future son or daughter (or both, gods, both) what his own father was to him and Selene: a larger than life figure with an easy grin who could scoop a child up in each arm, laughing. 

A foolish, idyllic dream, surely, for one who promised his life--to die, even--in service to the king.

This is all only his first thought about the news. The second thought is, _Prince Noctis is going to kill me._

But...a child. A daughter, if Luna's intuition is right, and he has learned that her intuition is almost always right.

Nyx buries his face against her belly, his arms around her, holding her close. She cards her elegant fingers through his hair and murmurs soft words to him. Funny how the tables have turned, with her comforting him. She's humming that tune again. Her skin smells like the shower gel from the rest stop convenience store, orange blossom something or other. It's not the sylleblossoms she loves so much and it's not the golden scent of the water lilies of his hometown, but it brings both to mind. 

The moon moves out of the center of the skylight, escaping to the edge of the opening. Nyx gives her belly one last nuzzle before he finally sits up and gathers her into his arms. 

What do you think, she asks, her voice soft and warm against his throat. He takes a deep breath, now that he can breathe again, though his chest is still tight.

It should be difficult, a question so sudden and news so unexpected, and Nyx has never really thought about what his hypothetical children would be called. His dreams have never gone so far. But with Luna against him, with her cool beauty limned by the disappearing moon above, and the symbolism of his own name, there is only one name he can choose.

Aurora, he says into her hair. The dawn born from our night.

Her sigh is felt more than heard as she relaxes into his embrace. She agrees with him: it is a good name.

30.

Nyx should have been prepared for the reappearance of the woman in black--Gentiana, according to Luna--but he's too distracted by plans for the future he never thought he'd have. One moment he and Luna are packing the car to leave, and the next the silent woman is there, hand trailing over the side of the car as she makes deliberate steps toward them. Luna is pleased but only for a moment; she glances at Nyx and he knows the exact reason for her trepidation.

How are they going to deal with this and the outside world?

He automatically steps between the women, angling his body to protect Luna, one empty hand spread behind him like an extra shield for her belly. Gentiana pauses and regards him with bemusement. The dogs, having no compunctions, bark happily in greeting. Gentiana gracefully crouches to pet them, and behind him, Nyx can feel Luna relax. He's still alert, but he follows her lead and he, too, forces the beating of his heart to regain its normal rhythm. 

The woman in black does not look up at them, but her question is directed their way as she pets the dogs: How does Luna expect to fulfill her part of the prophecy while carrying the wrong man's child?

And just like that, Nyx tenses once more, this time in protective fury. All he hears is the censure in her otherwise benign tone. Luna's sudden cry and her hand on his arm are all that keep him from drawing his kukris. The fire in him is immediately banked but still present. No, he wouldn't actually attack Gentiana, even without Luna's interference. That doesn't mean he doesn't think about it.

Gentiana sighs. This will not do, she tells him, and he understands--belatedly--that he's failed some kind of test. His face burns, the angry fire in him now turned to embarrassment. They will hear far worse things, warns the woman in her measured near-monotone. They will need to be prepared. Will he fight every person who tries to denigrate the Princess or the Glaive with wicked words?

He might try. He doesn't say that, though. Instead he glances back at Luna who watches him with a hand at her throat. He takes that hand in his, brings it to his lips. 

Of course he won't do anything Luna doesn't want him to do. Luna's worry softens to quiet adoration. For a moment, they are alone in the world again.

Until Gentiana laughs softly and stands. She finally does approach them. She stands close to them both, between them but not separating them, for which Nyx is grateful. Instead she takes their joined hands in both of hers, heavy-lashed eyes studying first Luna's still-worried expression, then Nyx's still-defiant one, and she sighs once more.

She will do what she can to smooth their way ahead in Altissia, but their time grows short. Niflheim will find them soon; it would be better if they can reach the floating city before they're caught on the road.

Nyx can feel the tremor in Luna's hand. He supposes they should have known they couldn't run forever, but neither of them are ready to end the trip now. And yet they must.

Gentiana catches Luna's eye first. This time, the woman's smile is real; this time, she lets Luna see the joy she's kept hidden until now. She kisses Luna's forehead and murmurs congratulations and blessings upon the child inside her. Nyx thinks he catches a whispered request to be called "Auntie Genny" as well, but Luna's startled laughter distracts him.

Then Gentiana turns to him, still holding their hands, and he feels the weight of ages behind her gaze. It's too close to what he felt when surrounded by the ancient kings in Insomnia; all at once, her depth makes perfect sense to him and he is awed by her. 

They know their gods, in Galahd.

Even if he failed his first test, apparently he has passed the second, for Gentiana-- _Shiva_ \--smiles for him, too. When she leans in to whisper in his ear, it is not the lighthearted message she gave to Luna. He listens to every formal, carefully-chosen word she speaks, inscribes them on his heart so they will never disappear.

Between one moment and the next, the weight on their hands is gone and Gentiana herself is gone, too. Nyx has to lean on the car for a moment; his breath comes with difficulty as if after a hard run. Luna's questions go unanswered but he tugs her into an embrace that cradles her against him, kisses the top of her head as he regains his equilibrium.

It's time to go. He finally lets Luna free and opens the car door for her and the dogs to settle in their places, closes it, walks around the back of the car to collapse into the driver's seat. And yet, he waits a moment more, staring off at nothing as he thinks about what Gentiana told him.

For what she said was, _you are not the wrong man at all, Nyx Ulric, Glaive of the Oracle Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, and husband thereof. No matter what anyone may say, you must always remember that you are by far the right one, the only possible father for her child, because you are the only man she loves._

And then she added, _draw your strength from that, and nothing will ever stand in your way of keeping her safe._

Pryna barks, snapping him back to reality, and Luna leans over to peer up at his face, worried. The worry eases when he smiles down at her, kisses her lightly, and starts the car.

Because if his strength is found in his love for her, then he could defend her against the machinations of other nobles, the daemons of the wild places, the armies of Niflheim and even all the gods themselves.

31.

The road is lined with rocks, with wild grasses, with ancient, leaning telephone poles that have long since lost their wires. The dogs have each chosen a side of the car to hang their heads out of, tongues lolling out of canine smiles, both enjoying the wind. The top is down to let the sunshine warm them from its place high above in a cloudless blue sky.

Nyx keeps a lazy hand on the wheel and an alert eye on the road. They still have days until they reach Altissia, but their destination looms in their consciousness. The time for a leisurely road trip is over; the true adventure is just about to begin. And despite his obvious qualms, Nyx is ready to fight again, now that he has a purpose.

Well, two purposes.

Luna sits beside him, the blue scarf tied over her hair and around her neck, a pair of sunglasses shading her eyes. She leans her chin on one hand, gazing out at the coarse scenery that passes them by. Her other hand is in its customary place, twined with his on the seat between them, though every so often she lets go of him to place that hand on her belly, to close her eyes as if she can't believe herself. Sometimes she puts his hand there, too, and though he knows it's far too early to feel a change, he likes to believe that he does.

When they are done in Altissia, he decides, he's going to take her home, his home. They can figure things out from there.

After Aurora is born. After the dawn comes.


End file.
